


Kinktober 2018

by IrLaimsaAraLath



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Begging, Choking, Deepthroating, F/M, Kinktober 2018, Light Bondage, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-25 08:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrLaimsaAraLath/pseuds/IrLaimsaAraLath
Summary: Here there be smut.Hopefully lots of smutty smut smut.You have been warned.





	1. Chapter 1

Here we are again this year. I didn't make it through all of last year, but I figured I'd give it another try.  I'll probably be constantly behind, but I'll post 'em as I write 'em.

I'm working off the list found here: https://kinktober2018.tumblr.com/post/171107184776/kinktober-2018

The list is reposted below for your convenience.

1\. Deep-Throating | ~~Inflation~~ | ~~Face-Sitting~~ | ~~Masks~~  
2\. A ~~ss Worship~~ | Begging | ~~Medical play~~ | ~~Watersports~~  
3\. Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play | Edgeplay | Knife Play  
4\. Spanking | Mirror Sex | Spit-roasting | Dacryphilia (Crying)  
5\. Feet | Sadism/Masochism | Feederism | Shotgunning  
6\. Daddy | Corset | Cock Worship | Biting  
7\. Praise-kink | Body Swap | Aphrodisiacs | Incest  
8\. Blood/Gore | Prostitution/Sex Work | Fisting | Hate-fucking/Angry Sex  
9\. Titfucking | Sthenolagnia (Strength/Muscles) | Bondage | Lingerie  
10\. Hair-pulling | Waxplay | Micro/Macro | Bonds (Telepathic or Empathic)  
11\. Object Insertion | Sounding | Cross-dressing | Tribadism/Scissoring  
12\. Licking | Pet Play | Rimming/Analingus | Costume  
13\. Weight Gain | Distant/Distracted Sex | Gags | Creampie  
14\. Asphyxiation | Cunnilingus | Distention | Tentacles  
15  Forniphilia (Human Furniture) | Overstimulation | Intercrural Sex |Uniforms  
16\. Nipple Play | Frottage | Body Worship | Sixty-nine  
17\. Masturbation | Seduction | Collaring | Orgasm Denial  
18\. Fucking Machine | Latex | Role Reversal | Xenophilia  
19\. Public | Formal Wear | Straitjacket | Cock-Warming  
20\. Urophagia | Hot-Dogging | Emeto | Dirty talk  
21\. Bukakke | Food play | Suspension | Branding  
22\. Impact Play | Cuckolding | Hand-jobs | Threesome (or more)  
23\. Scars | Master/Slave | Shibari | Size Difference  
24\. Pegging | Leather | Lapdances |Shower/Bath  
25\. Tickling | Scat | Boot Worship | Olfactophilia (Scent)  
26\. Lactation | Roleplay | Smiles/Laughter | Toys  
27\. Exhibitionism/Voyeurism | Degradation | Gun Play | Against a wall  
28\. Omorashi | Stripping/Striptease | Vore | Humiliation  
29\. Glory hole | Double (Or more) Penetration | Sleepy Sex | Massage  
30\. Gagging | Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose | Breast Worship | Swallowing  
31\. Any combination of the above!


	2. Day 1 - Deepthroating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and my Inquisitor, Caitlin.

The shifting of the bed at her side brought her to the brink of consciousness, though sleep clung heavily at the edges of her mind, and instinctively, Caitlin reached out.  Her hand caught Cullen’s shoulder, but her weak grip failed when he moved, skipping first to his elbow, then to his fingers.  “Too early,” she complained in a mumble and fumbled to keep hold of his fingers even as he gently twisted them from her grasp.  His chuckle was as warm as his side of the bed as she sank into the space he’d left vacant, still refusing to open her eyes as she continued to feebly grope the empty air in search of him.

“It’s nearly daylight,” he said, voice still rough from sleep, and she groaned as she let her arm plop down onto the mattress.  

“ _Too_ early,” she repeated, with extra emphasis, and begrudgingly opened her eyes to squint up at him in time to see a flash of his bemused grin before he turned and disappeared into the washroom.  With a huff, she shifted, body sprawled halfway across her side of the bed and onto his, and turned her face into his pillow.  A deep breath brought her the scent of elderflower and musk, a combination distinctly Cullen’s, as she listened absently to the sound of water and shuffling in the room beyond.  

With enough effort, she was certain she could find her way back into sleep, but quickly decided against it.  She would wait, tell Cullen goodbye, THEN go back to sleep until some more decent hour.  To that end, she stretched as she rolled onto her stomach and dropped her chin into the cradle of her folded arms.  Her head swayed from side to side, pivoting on her chin as she listened to her lover.  It brought a contented warmth to her chest to recognize the sound of his towel flapping as he dried his back, the scent of the pomade he used in his hair wafting by on a steamed breath of air.  She didn’t think she would ever tire of waking to Cullen.  As the minutes strolled by her at a leisurely pace, she began to mark them by the heavy blinking of her eyes.  When that became too frequent, she listened instead to the whisper of her own breath.  And in moments, the sleep that eluded her reclaimed her once again.   

Unaware of how much time had passed, she awoke to the tug of Cullen’s fingers as they brushed through her hair.  She hummed behind her close-lipped smile as she rested the weight of her head in his palm, and her eyes fluttered lightly as she opened them.  He was bare-chested, his shirt slung over his shoulder, and his breeches up, but unlaced.

“Cullen,” she said, the sleepy smile on her lips easing into a wistful sigh as his fingertips massaged at her scalp.  As sluggish as a cat unfurling in a spot of warm sunlight, she unfolded one arm, hand grazing his hip as it coasted over his backside and hooked around his thigh.  She drew him closer and nuzzled her cheek against his hip.  “Don’t go,” she pleaded before she drew the tip of her nose along the bare line of his waist.

“I’m afraid I have much less appealing tasks that require my attention this morning,” he said as he reluctantly untangled his hand from her hair and reached for his shirt.  Her argument was a discontent sound from the back of her throat as she rose onto an elbow and leaned to trail the tip of her nose through the dark blond trail of hair that led from the open placket of his breeches to his navel.  His stomach hollowed at the touch, and he paused with the fabric of his shirt stretched between his hands.  

“Stay,” she said against the skin of his stomach, lips grazing the trail of hair as her free hand snuck up to tug at one hip of his breeches.   The breath she heard him suck in through his nose did nothing to discourage her, and her lips traced the naked curve of his hip as she revealed it.  

“Caitlin,” he said, his tone low and cautionary as he disentangled a hand from his shirt to grip her fingers as she was in the process of tugging down the other side of his breeches.  Her eyes tilted upward, lips parted in a subtle smile.  

“ _Cullen_ ,” she responded before trailing the pointed tip of her tongue over his skin, ending with a suckling kiss at the waist of his breeches.

“I’ve got meetings,” he said helplessly, gold eyes gone dark.  The hitching of his breath only strengthened her resolve, and she twisted her fingers from his grip and slid his breeches and smalls down from his hips entirely.  They barely clung to the curve of his ass, and the front splayed open to leave him exposed.  

“As Inquisitor, I officially excuse you from your morning duties,” she began, easing the heel of her hand across his hip, fingers skipping over his skin.   Under his breath, he muttered something.  Perhaps the word _important_ followed by _I shouldn’t_.  Putting her weight on her elbow she purposefully settled her eyes on his as she leaned into him to lightly scrape her teeth across his hip bone.  The shiver that raked through him sent a flash of heat through her belly.

“Stay,” she whispered when her eyes fell, her once sleepy gaze now hungry as it fixed, and she drew gentle fingertips beneath his semi-soft cock, lifting it so that she could brush her lips over the crown.  

“Meetings, Caitlin,” he valiantly continued, though he had to pause for a hiccup of breath at the touch of her mouth on him.  “With the Knight-Commander and Moth-her-,” he began again, then his words broke entirely as she dipped her head to take the whole of his cock into her mouth.  His eyes fluttered, and he braced a hand on her shoulder as he groaned at the feel of it, growing hard on her tongue.  Her fingers drew errant patterns over the top of his thigh as her tongue pressed to the underside of his shaft and she sucked him to fullness.  

“M-Mother Giselle,” he finished, breathlessly, barely able to bring the last of his stuttering thoughts to words.  She hummed around him, tongue massaging as she began to draw away.  Her lips were a slow slide on his length, leaving her to mouth his head before she pulled off him entirely.  Coyly, her head tilted, and she made a show of licking her lips, the stiff tip of her tongue coasting over the bottom before curling along the upper.  

“Maker,” he intoned quietly as his hand left her shoulder to climb into her hair.   Though the room’s air was cool on his spit-slicked cock, her sigh was warm, and he curled his fist loosely in her long red locks and tugged gently.  Her eyes fell half-lidded, a sly, sleepy smile lingering as she dipped her fingers over his hip and down the curve of his ass to push his breeches the rest of the way down his thighs.  

“ _Stay_ ,” she said more firmly now, strewing kisses along the side of his shaft before she canted her violet eyes up to him as if searching for a response.  His chin dipped, and his chest broadened with a deep sigh that brought the words, “You are incorrigible,” with it.  A self-satisfied smirk played on her lips as she rolled onto her back, ribbons of crimson hair spilling over the side of the bed as her head fell back.  

“I accept your surrender, Commander,” she purred up at him as she licked her lips.  

“What’re you-,” and his questioning shuddered to a halt when she wrapped both arms around the backs of his thighs and pulled.   Breeches still around his ankles, he shuffled, nearly falling, as she grasped his length in one fisted hand.  Before he had time to even finish the thought, she was guiding him to her lips and between, the soft cushion of her tongue easing his passage into her mouth.  His groan was audible, and his hips twitched forward instinctively, pushing past her hold on him to sink deeper into the inviting warmth she offered.  

The pleased timbre of her voice vibrated around him and through him as her hands slipped on gently clawing fingertips from the backs of his thighs to behind his knees.  She urged them to bend slightly, and it took little encouragement for Cullen to decipher her desire.  His knees pressed into the edge of the mattress, and as his pelvis shifted forward, he felt the head of his cock nudge at the back of her throat.   His voice left him in a hoarse croak as she began to gag, and he moved to pull away, apologies on his lips.

She moaned her dissent as her hands clutched at the back of his thighs before she managed to sink her fingers into the firmness of his ass.  She arched her back, straightening her throat as she drug him against her.  

He may well have gasped something along the lines of _Sweet_ – _Blessed_ – _Andraste_ as his cock slid back into the narrow sheath of her throat, and he could feel her working to suck and swallow around him.  The sensation sent a streak of fire down his spine, bowing him over her until he had both hands braced on the bed and was steadily rocking into her mouth.  

The sounds, hearing her struggle to take him, feeling it…the whole experience made his head swim and one fist untangled from the sheets to slide into place over her throat.  From the outside and the inside, he felt her throat flutter around him, and he moaned her name, half gasp, half rasp as he helplessly continued to thrust into her mouth.  

“Cait, Maker…Cait,” he struggled to say, to speak his thoughts as the hand on her neck drifted down her chest and beneath the neckline of her chemise to grope at her breast.  It filled his hand as she arched into the touch, and he seized upon her pebbled nipple, pinching, rolling, and finally twisting less than gently as she hollowed her cheeks on him.  He panted above her, quickened breaths following thrusts he tried to keep moderately in check despite her urging him deeper with her grip on his ass.  

“Cait, I c-can’t, it’s too-,” and he sucked in a hard breath as he tried to pull back.  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he rushed out, able to speak finally without much hindrance as she pushed back on his thighs.  When he looked down to meet her eyes, his ambers were little more than thin rings around depthless pupils, and she swiped her tongue over the corner of her mouth as she tried to catch her breath.  “You won’t,” she assured him, pausing to whine at the hand still roughing her breast.  She braced into his heavy touch as she writhed.  “I want to choke on you,” she said, her voice hoarse and harried as she bent up to chase his cock with her swollen lips.  “Then I want you to come on my tongue, Cullen,” she breathed out between teasing flicks of her tongue against the underside of his cock.

There was something just a little bit feral in the way his pupils contracted, then flared.  In the way his hand tightened on her flesh and his cock jumped in response.  A growl clawed from his chest, the concern in his eyes displaced by raw lust as she spoke.   With his free hand, he stroked the backs of his knuckles along the bare line of her throat, and as her mouth fell dutifully open, he slid home between her lips.  

He groaned to hear her choke on his length and ignored the sound she made to slide a little further.  There was nearly no noise at all then, just the desperate clutch of her throat, the reddening of her face.  When tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes and her grip on his ass became bruising, he eased back, a slow drag that made her fight for each breath.  

When she was finally able to take a full gulp of air, he stroked a thumb through the trail into her hair that her tears had left.  His breath hitched as he spoke, “Is that more what you had in mind?”  She barely had a chance to hum her affirmation before he rocked forcefully into her again.  His moan echoed hers, primal and deep.  With each thrust, he nudged the back of her throat, then slid a bit further as her hands became claws as she pawed at his ass for a good grip.  

He twisted his fist in the sheets as he braced one hand on the bed, and he looked down the length of her body to find her legs tightly crossed and her hips rising rhythmically in time with the tempo of her sucking.  The pace he set that had started out steady became punishing as she egged him on, hands groping and her mouth…maddening.

His head fell forward, dipping to rest on the skin of her torso, just beneath her sternum as fucked diligently into her throat.   His calves burned with the bend of his knees, his thighs ached, but the pain made the warmth of her mouth and the way she worked him worth every ounce of effort.  Her voice was a near constant vibration through him, a tremor that filled the lulls between her breathless struggles to breathe around him.  Sweat had broken across his back and on his brow, and the heat she burned into his flesh climbed into his belly and pooled.  He nipped at the skin over her ribs, pinching, before he sucked a bruise onto the soft expanse of her stomach.  

The sheets crumpled in his fists were wet with his exertion, and when her hand webbed its way up the inside of his thigh to grip his sac, he buried his groan against her skin.  “I’m close,” he panted, and the bucking of her hips grew more insistent as she moaned around him.  From deep in her chest, the sound forced itself up and out, and he’d have thought she fought to swallow it with the way the suction of her mouth abruptly increased.  Her hips shuddered as she thrust into the air, heels dug into the bed for leverage.  Mesmerized, he watched her, leaning back to trail his hands upward along her neck.  

“Are you-, did you-,” he began to ask, but lost his words as the idea of her coming untouched washed fully over him.   Heat streaked through him at the frantic pumping of her hips, the choked moans he felt as much as heard.  It tipped him, and his hands combed back into her hair to hold her head as he drove past her lips, hard and fast, as the first waves of his orgasm broke.  The guttural moan he loosed fractured into a broken whimper as he spilled himself across her tongue and down her throat.  Around the head of his cock, her throat clenched and relaxed as she swallowed gulp after gulp of his seed.   And he rocked into her through every pulse until his legs were tingling and shaking, breath ragged, and hips shuddering.  

Damp with sweat, his forehead rested against her stomach, and his back bowed with the depths of his breath as she took a few more pulls on him before he was gasping at the oversensitivity.  The palms of her hands were hot and wet with sweat as she ran them down the tops of his thighs, nudging him back, and he slid away enough to let his softened length slip from her swollen lips.  Breathless and panting for air, she drug the back of one hand, then the other across her mouth, then wiped at the corner of her lips as he finally stood away and glanced downward.   Her face was crimson, eyes unfocused as she lazily turned her head to the side and hummed, eyes slanted to him from the corners as she raked a hand back through her hair.  

“You’re staying, then?” she asked haltingly as she tried to catch her breath and leaned up from the bed to lick away a drop of spend that had collected on the tip of his cock.  He hissed sharply and growled as he kicked off the breeches around his ankles, and she could only laugh in response as he clamored over her and onto the bed.  That hoarse laugh turned into a blissfully tortured moan as he buried his face between her thighs with nary a word.


	3. Day 2 - Begging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and my Lavellan. Written from a different perspective than I normally use. It was weird and took forever.

 

There is more than one way to beg, and Solas, while subtle, is a master of them all.  

Even when you’re in a crowded ballroom, an ocean of bodies between yours and his, you still feel his gaze.  You turn your head to meet his eyes, and there in his unwavering stare is a wanting plea. _See me._  And, you do.  You note the ease in his posture as he reclines against the statue, fingers laced on his hip, legs crossed at the ankle.  To anyone else, the pose might seem effortless, but to you, it’s calculated. The tilted line of his hips in opposition to that of his mouth, one side drawn higher than the other:  the barest smirk. It’s an invitation. _See me.  Come to me._  As you approach, the crowd parts for you, one of but a few elves among the crowd, but certainly the only one with the distinctive glow of the Fade in her hand.  His chin drops as you near, the grey-blue of his eyes sharpening on the lines of your figure, and he begins to straighten… The change in your course is slight, but rather than take you in reach of his arms, you divert to pass just at his shoulder.  Close enough for him to catch a whiff of your perfume. Close enough that you hear him breathe it in. You leave the sound of his wry chuckle in your wake with a smirk of your own.

*

Later, after a boorish evening of forced smiles and polite conversation, you retire to your room.  You step out of your heels and kick them aside as you pull the pins from your hair and let it fall around your shoulders.  It takes only a moment to unfasten your bodice, and the heavy shell of your gown crumples to the plush carpet, leaving you in stockings and underthings that match the corset that encases your torso.  You'd breathe a sigh of relief if you could breathe properly at all, and as you're pondering the logistics of unlacing a back-laced corset, there's a knock at the door. For the barest of moments, alarm prickles against the nape of your neck, but then you realize that you've been waiting for this.   Earlier denied, it was only a matter of time before Solas arrived to try again.

You know to play along as you saunter over to the door and do your best to sound unassuming when you ask, “Yes?”  After the clearing of his throat, you hear Solas’s answer. “Sorry to bother,” he begins, and there is little hesitation as you open the door.  You find him rifling through a few sheaves of parchment as he continues to speak without ever looking up. “But I've come across some missives I think would be…”  The door creaks as you lean against the edge, cheek tilted to rest on the lacquered wood as he finally looks up. His brows tick higher, and a faint flush creeps into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “...would be...of interest,” he finishes in a halting voice as you push the door the rest of the way open and stand in full view.  A hip cocked out, one hand propped upon it as the other grips the door. You see his throat bob before he speaks again.

“ _May I come in_ ?” he asks, voice lowering as he struggles to keep his eyes from doing the same.  He is only partially successful. _“_ Of course,” is your reply as you stand aside.  This had been his intention, naturally. To come to you again at the end of the evening, give you a chance to reconsider your earlier denial.  However, you've turned the tables by arriving at the door corseted, bound in silks and lace that only enhance what lies beneath. On his back foot, he couldn't chance that you wouldn't invite him in, so he asks, breathless, addled, and betraying the desire he tries so hard to keep close to his chest.  You add, “You're just in time,” as he passes by. You shut the door, and as you click the lock into place, he turns. “Oh?” he inquires, eyes panning from you to the door lock and back again, only somewhat recovered. As you step away from the threshold and into the room proper, you note his grip on the parchments have started to crinkle the otherwise unmarred sheets.  

You hum your reply as you stalk nearer him, easing the parchments from his hands with a gentle tug.  “Yes,” you finally say, notes set aside as you return to him. He's without the gaudy red wool jacket of the Inquisition’s entourage, without his hat.  He is left only in a pair of black trousers and button down shirt. The color, you think, suits him. Dramatic against his pale skin, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the light hue of his eyes.  You smooth a hand down his chest, plucking each button in the long row with the tip of a fingernail. Under your touch, his stomach quivers as your hand passes only to draw away where the tail of his shirt is tucked into his trousers.  

Your eyes have followed your hand all this while, and the deep breath he takes beckons them upward.  You smile, warmth and indulgence in the expression, as you lift your arms, skimming your hands along either side of your neck.  You turn, arms still raised. “If you don't mind,” you say as your fingers feed into your hair and lift it from the nape of your neck.  You hold it in a loose pile on the crown of your head as you glance over your shoulder, chin lowered. “The laces, please,” is your request, and you hear the rumble of his response before he actually speaks.  “Gladly,” he responds a split second before you feel the whisper of his fingers against the back of your neck, causing a shiver, before they slip between your shoulder blades.

His touch is warm on your skin, brief though it is, before you feel him begin to work at the knot in the laces.  It seems to take some effort, or perhaps that is only the appearance he hopes to impart, manufacturing an excuse to step closer.   You feel his warmth at your back, and it pulls a thread of heat through your body. As he frees each eyelet from the laces, you're able to breathe a little deeper, and you take a full breath as he pulls the cording free entirely.  “Better?” he asks quietly as he opens the back of the corset, folding each panel until it falls from your body to hang loose in his fist. His free hand smoothes over your skin, creased and reddened by the embrace of the garment. You sigh without reservation as he massages his thumb into one of the marks, and you lean into his touch, a murmur of approval on your lips.   

You hear the corset hit the floor with a muted fawumph only a moment before you feel the steady press of his fingertips into your flesh, working over your back with gentle persistence.   The sensation is nothing short of divine, and as your back arches, you _inadvertently_ brace back against his hips, the swell of your ass caressing his growing excitement.  His moan is clipped, strangled, _surprised_ , and his fingers pause, pressed deep into your muscles as he rests his free hand on your bare shoulder.   “I...should go,” are the words he speaks, but he doesn't move. Doesn't budge, simply stands stock still as his hand slips over the curve of your shoulder and his fingers falter and fall to the small of your back.   You instead hear what he really wants to say: _Ask me to stay.  Want me. Need me._

And, you do, but not with words, not yet.  You turn, letting your hair slip from your fingers as you face him.  Unabashed, you know just what to do with his hands when he flounders.  You place one on your hip and mold the other to your breast, ignoring his sharp intake of breath.  Leaning into him, you hook a hand behind his neck and pull gently, rising into your toes to meet him.  He makes the smallest sound as your lips meet, a push and pull before you open to him, and his tongue darts over yours.  So simple a thing, but it seems to break something loose in him and his hand on your hip drags your body against his as you find yourself trapped in the circle of his arms.  He kisses you, really kisses you. He suckles at your lower lip before running his tongue across it, over it, and back in so that he can drink each sigh you surrender to him.  A man parched, a man drowning, he is both unsated and overwhelmed as he tastes you.

When he finally pulls back long enough for a gulp of air, you give him what he wants; you whisper a breathless, “ _Don't go_ ,” against his mouth.  He answers with, “Ma nuvenin,” as you knew he would.  

*

From your place between his legs, you glance up, gazing down the length of Solas’s body.  His wrists are crossed, as they frequently are, but this time, they’re tied to your headboard with your stockings.  A fine sheen of sweat has broken over his skin, pink has settled in his cheeks and on his lips, the tips of his ears and across his chest.  You can still taste him on your tongue as your hand continues its slow trek upward around his cock and then down again. His breaths come quickly, something he himself has not been allowed thus far.  When his eyes finally roll down to you as you sit, chin propped on his thigh as you leisurely continue stroking, they’re blown wide, dark, swallowed by his need. “Are you well, ma lath?” you ask, knowing the answer before you do.  You see his forearms tense, his fists flex as he tries to squirm lower on the bed, higher into your grip, chasing any sort of meaningful friction.

When he remains silent, you lean forward, and flatten your tongue on the underside of his cock to lick a stripe from root to tip before you slide your lips over the head.  The sound Solas makes drags a shiver up your spine and quickens the persistent ache between your thighs. Teasing him is a commitment for you suffer right along with him. When you hear him croak out a broken _Please_ you pause, tilting your eyes up as you hold him in your mouth.  Sucking lightly, kneading with your tongue. He tries to buck up, deeper into your warmth, but you fold an arm over his thigh to hold him down.  He really is beautiful like this. Laid bare and open. Vulnerable. As unmasked as he ever is, with his desire raw in his eyes, in the swipe of his tongue across his lower lip.  But, he knows what you’re waiting on. He knows his surrender and the only way you’ll accept it.

You hum around him, hollowing your cheeks as you take him deep, and the line of his body stiffens as he bumps the back of your throat.  “Ma lath,” he whispers, a groan from the back of his throat as he tugs at his arms. Your mouth glides up and down again, and you taste a fresh infusion of salt as he weakly calls out.  “Please... _vhenan_ ,” he submits, head dug back into the pillow, heels buried in the bed.  He knows how you best like to hear him beg. And the endearment sings across your skin like the warmth of a summer breeze, and you retreat.  “Yes, ma lath?” you purr as you crawl carefully astride his legs, slinking up his body, and leaving trails of kisses along his sweat-damp skin as you go.  He hisses as your lips graze the dip of his hip bone, the smooth skin above his navel. When you at last come eye to eye with him, he arches up, straining toward you.  You meet him halfway, tangle your breath with his, lips and tongues and teeth.

Your hands have strayed to his wrists, untying the silken knots of your stockings as you lose yourself in his kiss.  Hands free, one climbs immediately into your hair, fisting, but gently as he tugs you just far enough away that his lips brush yours when he speaks.  “ _Vhenan_ ... _vhenan_ ,” he chants, a prayer, a penance, a plea.  You close your eyes at the sound of it, the feel of it.  It crawls through you and over you and lights each nerve until your entire body hums.  It is easy enough to find his length trapped between your body and his as it is. His breath rushes over your lips as you take him in hand, and then he ceases to breathe entirely as you guide him to your entrance.  Utter stillness for one second, two, before he presses his forehead against yours and you both moan as you sink down onto him.

Neither of you move as your hips come to rest against his, and his fingers splay across your scalp to hold you in place.  To savor the mingling of your breaths. The small sounds passed from him to you and back again. “ _Vhenan_ ,” he whispers as his hand slips to the back of your neck, and you open your eyes to him.  There it is. Warmth. Adoration. Love. One that you can tell has known loss by the way he holds you, clings as if afraid you’ll evaporate.  “Ar lath ma, Solas,” you breathe in return, and you see the faintest hint of his smile before he rises to crush his mouth against yours and roll you beneath him.

Yes, there is more than one way to beg, and Solas is a master of them all.


End file.
